


Cooking Mama

by LadyOfTheAttic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arguing, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Draco Malfoy Doesn't, Fluff and Humor, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Cooks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Roommates, Teaching moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfTheAttic/pseuds/LadyOfTheAttic
Summary: Harry and Draco are roommates and auror partners but there are certain lines Draco doesn't cross-- namely, he won't let Harry cook for him. This would be fine if Draco didn't live off of frozen dinners and sadness. Harry decides to help with lessons!





	Cooking Mama

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[34](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Serious thanks to the mods for putting up with my inability to keep a friggin' deadline and to C and C for beta services rendered. As always, also to my alpha who pumps me full of coffee and gives me dirty looks when I get distracted.

“Are those instant noodles again?” Harry sounded a little disgusted.

Draco looked up and gracefully slurped a single noodle, managing to look indignant while doing so. “Maybe, why?”

“Because those things are like 90% sodium and eating one a week would be enough to bloat a salt water mermaid.”

“Oh sod off, Potter. What are you eating today? Something that took you hours to make again, right?” Draco tried to sound condescending but just ended up just sounding interested.

Harry blushed a little and looked down into his small tupperware, “Radicchio, fennel, and olive panzanella. It actually was pretty quick since I already had most of the ingredients.” He was proud of his lunches; they were reasonably good and fun to make. On his own, he’d found cooking was relaxing and not the anxiety driven chore it had been when he was growing up.

Draco grimaced, “That sounds delightful.” He tossed his plastic fork into the styrofoam cup and sat back, “Well, after hearing about your perfect lunch, mine looks as appealing as a pile of innards. I’m off my meal. Besides, don’t we have a mountain of paperwork after our last case?”

Sighing, Harry put the top back on his lunch and replaced it on the table top with a stack of parchment and evidence as tall as a house elf.

~*~

“I can’t believe we got through all of that today.” Harry grumbled as he stretched over the back of his chair. He felt his back pop in no less than three places and he smiled, satisfied.

Draco shifted all of the filed paperwork and stood. “Just barely, it’s nearly tomorrow.” He looked at his flatmate as Harry gathered his things and let the sight warm him. “Let’s head home, I’m sure your dinner will be an event as usual. You’ll need all the time you can get to finish it.”

Harry grinned and shouldered his bag, “And I’m sure you’ll have another microwavable, yes?”

“Of course, why waste all that time when I’m just going to hurry through it and go to bed anyway?” He ignored Harry’s brow furrow. Honestly, what was the point of making a multi-course meal if he wasn’t going to enjoy it like it should be enjoyed?

They walked in silence, both mulling over their own thoughts and keeping a shoulder to shoulder pace on the way home.

~*~

 

Harry actually winced when he heard the microwave ding. Draco walked into the kitchen just as Harry decided his roux was finished, “Hey, could you give me a hand, Malfoy?”

“Sure, I guess it’s supposed to sit or some nonsense anyway. What do you need?”

“Here, just slowly pour the milk in and I’ll stir.”

“What’s this going to be? It just looks like goop,” Draco looked distrustfully at the pan.

Laughing, Harry held up a hand to stem the incoming milk, “A cream sauce. It’s just a roux. Y’know, to make it taste a little-- hmmm, toastier?”

Draco stilled in absolute confusion, his face contorting into deep calculation. It was literally everything Harry had left in him after their long day to not just guffaw.

“Is there something wrong?” Harry stifled a snicker.

“It’s lumpy and not very thick at all. Is it a dumpling soup of some kind?”

“N-no, the flour will cause it to thicken once it’s set. It won’t be lumpy in just a bit. It’s just alfredo sauce, Malfoy.”

“Huh.”

“You know literally nothing about cooking, do you?”

Draco abruptly turned to a large bowl of cheese next to him. “Are you really going to use all that?! You’re going to get fat, Potter.”

Harry just raised an eyebrow. “Nothing at all then.” Pausing, he continued in mild outrage, “Then why won’t you let me cook for you?! I thought you were just being lazy about it all so I didn’t push! More milk, please.”

Flushing, Draco stared at the cheese while he poured. “It’s not your place to feed me, Potter. That’s a little too,” he paused, drawing deep breath, “intimate?”

“That’s enough milk, thanks. I mean, if you think so, I won’t insist.” He trailed off and Draco went to pick up his nuked stir fry. “Wait!” Harry blurted into the hanging silence.

“Merlin, I’m right here! What?!” Draco had whirled around after having to catch his plastic bowl mid-air from the start.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Draco eyed Harry suspiciously. “Finishing my book, why?”

“Okay, we’re staying in and you’re learning how to make something. Something simple, but something ‘worth the time’ as you so elegantly put it.”

“I’m not--” Draco stopped himself. It would be nice to learn to make something that smelled as good as the things Harry made daily. Though, spending the time alone with Harry in the flat was entirely different than work. It was quieter and closer and… 

“That sounds fine. I’d like to learn Duck Pâté en Croûte then.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Not a chance we’re starting there. We can do duck though. Let me think about it.”

Draco shrugged and shuffled off to the dish cupboard to replate his food. If there was one thing Draco would not go without, it was a proper place setting. 

“Y’know, I made too much, you could have some of this.”

Without turning to look in Harry’s direction, Draco headed towards the dining table. “You know that is simply out of the question.”

Harry chuckled as he strained his noodles and pulled out his own dinnerware. Draco’s tendencies had confused him when they first moved in together, but he was starting to get the hang of them. They were partners at work and every man for themselves at home. Not out of any sort of malice, it seemed, that’s just the way home life worked for him.

When he’d finished up, Harry brought his plate to the table and found Draco waiting for him. A perfect place setting in front, microwaved dinner slightly cold now, and Draco, fallen asleep without having even touched it.

Smiling, Harry sat his bowl down on the kitchen counter. What he really wanted to do was pick Draco up and make sure he made it to his bed alright. Knowing Draco, though, that would cross too many boundaries. Instead, Harry settled on grabbing a throw from the couch and gently placing it over Draco’s shoulders.

Harry cleared the table and headed to bed himself. Tomorrow was Friday; he’d be able to go shopping and get everything set up for that weekend. He found himself too excited to really sleep and ended up making a shopping list long into the morning.

~*~

Nothing had prepared Harry for this. Nothing in his short life of long experiences could have prepared him for this.

“It’s burned,” he stated deadpan.

“Yes, it’s my first time! Of course it’s a little overdone,” Draco defended.

“But it’s frozen too.” 

“Differences in heat, Potter!”

“No, it’s frozen over the burned bits.”

Draco, having grace in all things, knew that the refined thing was to just look imperiously at Harry as he replied, “I had to put the fire out somehow.”

Harry just nodded, silently, staring at the abomination. He supposed it was the obvious answer but he couldn’t get around the dichotomy of it. As he was staring, another question popped into his head. “Did I hear someone else screaming for help?”

“No, it was me.” Draco blushed deeply and looked away immediately.

“I don’t think so; it didn’t sound like you, anyway.”

Sighing heavily, Draco waved his hand as though he could just wave away what he said next: “Oh, some of the spices you used must have interfered with a taste spell I cast. It gained sentience just as the flames engulfed it.”

Harry’s mouth gaped.

Instantly, Draco went from zero to mortally offended. “I reversed the spell, Potter! I’m not a monster!”

“No, no. I didn’t say you were a monster.” He couldn’t take his gaze away from the roast. It had him in a trance, “I guess you were a father for a bit there.”

Draco also stared at it, losing any offense in his voice. “You’re not wrong.”

~*~

“Okay, I promise I won’t step away this time,” Harry assured as he gathered things from the refrigerator. “Not even for a second.”

Draco, to his credit, actually sounded nervous. “Alright, what are we making today?” 

The first round, both of them had well over-estimated Draco’s innate cooking ability due to how easily potions had come to him. It seemed that over the years, they’d both forgotten how hard he studied to get to that point.

“We’re going to try something without a big protein. I think we should,” Harry paused and chose his words carefully, “keep clear of large animals for a bit.”

Draco only nodded.

“I got some polenta, it seems like a good place to start.”

Harry got a grimace in response. “It sounds so plain.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry couldn’t hide his amusement. “I figured you’d say that so we’ll use duck fat and add some fried duck skin for texture.”

Upon hearing this, Draco instantly brightened and Harry grinned even wider. “I thought duck was too much for so early?”

“Draco, there are other ways to make duck than Duck Pâté en Croûte. You know that, right?”

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. “Yeees?”

“Uh-huh, I don’t believe you at all.”

“I don’t believe me either. Shall we continue on then?”

Nodding in agreement, Harry rolled up his sleeves and began to show Draco how to measure out stock and gather the things he needed before beginning. As Draco whisked, Harry tutted softly, “The best way is to get a little air with it. It’s why you’re whisking.” 

He got in close, and put his hand over Draco’s on the whisk. Harry’s hand was rough but warm, and large enough to nearly close around his. Draco was about to clear his throat and tell Harry that he was much too close, but the movement with the whisk he was being shown caused Harry to press against him a bit and he lost all his words. The problem with this situation wasn’t that he’d never thought of it before—it wasn’t a surprise, these feelings. The problem was that Draco had been trying desperately to not think these thoughts recently. There was too much to lose if Harry found Draco pining for him.

They were very successful at work and they got along well enough at home. Keeping things seperate was working phenomenally, why change it? 

The answer to that highly rhetorical question was bumping up against him over and over again and making his head fuzzy. He knew what products Potter used; why was it always such a surprise when he smelled so nice? Draco inhaled deeply and sighed happily.

“It does smell pretty good, doesn’t it?” Harry said absolutely too low and too close to his ear. All Draco could do was nod and hope the polenta needed to be whisked forever. 

It did not, apparently. Harry very abruptly pulled away and told him that everything was fully incorporated. “You’ll still need to keep stirring it for about five more minutes, just to keep it from burning on the bottom.” 

Draco turned to look at Harry, both hands on the counter as though to stabilize himself; Harrywas staring very intently at the duck skin. Trying to mask the concern in his voice, Draco went back to the pot and began stirring, “Are you alright, Potter? It wouldn’t do to have my instructor sick in the middle of the lesson.”

In his peripheral vision, Draco saw Harry close his eyes tight and inhale deeply before he popped up and chirped, “Of course! Why?”

“Ugh, can’t I show concern without being questioned?” Draco felt his cheeks burn. He clearly had seen something he wasn’t meant to.

Harry stopped and pretended to think for a moment, “No, no I don’t think you can.”

“Fair enough. What’s next?”

“Keep stirring.” Harry paused and watched Draco for a moment. “Vigorously, or it’ll burn. Only one direction, remember?”

Sighing, Draco rolled his eyes and whisked a bit faster. The pot was wide, so since he had ground to cover, he’d inadvertently put his hips into it. He didn’t realize he’d done it until he noticed the lack of sound from behind him. Harry had stopped moving. Feeling embarrassed, Draco snapped into stillness and kept the movement restricted to his wrist. Almost immediately, he heard Harry start shuffling around the kitchen.

“You know what this polenta needs?” He sounded oddly frantic. “More wine.”

A beat. Draco asked cautiously, “More? Was there any to begin with?”

“Nope!” Harry popped the cork on a bottle and poured himself a glass, downing half before offering Draco some with a gesture.

“Uh, sure. Maybe a half a glass.”

Harry poured Draco his glass and refilled his own-- downing it almost as soon as he’d finished pouring. Once more, he topped himself up. This time though, he only took a sip.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Draco didn’t even try to hide the concern this time.

Harry nodded with a wide grin, “Sure am! Wanna fry some duck skins?”

~*~

Harry held his head, then covered his mouth. It was taking all of his strength to not burst.

“Where did they go?” Draco was so upset.

“Did-did you cook them into oblivion?” Drunk Harry was normally giggly. This was possibly the hardest part of the day-- just not laughing.

Draco wasn’t having it though. He was thoroughly embarrassed and still a little riled up from all the “whisking” that had happened earlier. “Well, I’m so sorry I didn’t grow up like the saaavior with people guiding my every move through life!”

There was a beat where Harry processed what Draco meant before his face went dark. “No one guided anything.” 

Draco’s eyes rolled in his head, “Bull! I’m sure your ‘auntie and unkie’ absolutely let their precious, golden Harry walk through life fawning over every little thing you made.”

“There was no help. There was no fawning. Stop.”

But Draco couldn’t. He was rattled and he’d dug himself in. To turn back now was foreign to him so it didn’t even cross his mind. “Of course there wasn’t! No one literally held your hand as you tried to boil water, I’m certain I believe that.” Draco spat sarcastically.

Harry stood ramrod straight and his mouth became a thin line, he turned on his heel and grabbed a jacket, yelling “Turn the burner off or you’ll be scraping polenta out of that pan for a week” before slamming the door.

What just happened? That was a normal jab for them, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he have gotten a sassy reply? Couldn’t have been the wine either. Plenty of times, Draco would have just gotten a laugh at in the pub. They were getting along so well, too. 

As he stood, pondering what had just happened, he heard someone at the Floo.

“Harry? I know you said you were cooking this weekend but I hoped-- Oh! Draco?” Hermione started a little as she rounded a corner. “Is Harry home? I was looking to ask him a few questions for my dinner tonight.”

Draco shook his head dumbly. Something was off and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but quickly picked up her tone, “Will he be home soon?”

What was making him feel like the world was burning around him?

“Draco?”

“What, Granger?!” he snapped.

She smirked. e hated when she did that at him, “Ah, well, I think there’s something burning.”

His eyes went wide and he whirled around to find the pan Potter had told him to take off the heat smoking an angry black. He cursed and took out his wand to put the too-hot pot into the sink. Potter had banned wands in the kitchen after the roast incident, but Draco wasn’t one to listen to nonsense.

Draco sighed heavily as the pot clattered. “I have no idea where he’s gone. He trundled off when I got too frustrating.”

Hermione looked suspicious. “That doesn’t sound like him. What happened before that?’

“I told you, I burned something and we had a back and forth about his upbringing. Nothing unusual,” Draco tried to wave the whole incident away with his hand.

“Normally, I’d agree with you.” Hermione mused, “this might be a special case though.”

“Oh?” Draco tried not to sound tired and disappointed in the day as a whole, but it didn’t seem to be working.

She busied herself with a stray sweater thread as she seemed to weigh her options. Apparently an answer had come to her and he couldn’t help but cross his arms in front of himself in anticipation of whatever nonsense she would spout in his defense.

“They used to hit him,” she almost whispered to the floor. Looking up to him, she was clearly frustrated, “I know this isn’t mine to tell, but it’s not fair to either of you the way it’s going. You couldn’t have known that a burnt egg was a cuff to the back of the head and then, very probably literally, kicked to his under-the-stairs cupboard for the rest of the day.” 

“Excuse me, his what?”

Hermione’s eyes were stone, locked with Draco’s. He couldn’t look away if he tried, “For most of his life with his guardians they had him in a linen cupboard under the stairs. He was forced to make breakfast. No one taught him but that never stopped anyone from becoming furious and snapping if he did something wrong. 

“He was so anxious to cook again, but he kept saying it was silly not to try. So, he tried. He failed over and over and his shoulders kept rising with every mistake. Finally, he made something without too much trouble and without flinching every time. After doing that a few more times, he found it enjoyable.” 

Her gaze finally softened. “Draco, you may have pushed the wrong button. I know you think you always push the wrong button, but you haven’t in a very long while. You and Harry have grown quite close.”

As Draco tried to remember how to breathe, he kept replaying how gentle and patient Harry had been the whole time. He physically hurt.

“I see,” was what he managed. Draco barely even registered when Hermione took her leave. 

This explained many things but changed precious few. Draco turned back to the kitchen and stared into the quiet shell. It was odd how empty it felt while still being full of everything he needed to continue his task. Draco felt a tug to fill it again but was completely devoid of ideas-- unless?

He sighed heavily and began to scrub the polenta pot.

~*~

Draco sat on the couch, a fresh glass of wine in his hands, and sipped to steady them. He was displeased with how anxious he seemed to be. Just as his brow was furrowing and he was about to start scolding himself, the front door opened and he heard the shuffle of someone.

“Get it together, you’re trying and that’s literally all Potter has ever asked.”

“Hey, sorry I-- What’s this?” Harry looked at the small dinner table. It was set beautifully, candles lit, and what he could only assume was polenta absolutely HEAPED onto a serving dish.

“I-uh, well, I felt bad for lashing out. I’m not used to failing so spectacularly, you understand.” Draco walked to stand beside Potter, both looking at the table instead of each other.

Harry chuckled lightly. “Of course. I--”

“Hermione stopped by,” Draco cut him off.

“Oh? How did her dinner party go?”

“She hadn’t had it yet,” Draco set his glass down and walked over to a chair, pulling it out and waiting.

Harry stood, staring curiously for a moment before a small, gasped, “Oh!” escaped him and he walked over and sat in the offered chair. “Thank you, Draco. I really wanted to--”

Draco walked over to the serving dish and gingerly spooned some onto Potter’s plate and then his own.

“Thank you again,” Harry looked down at the extremely reasonable amount served versus the ridiculous amount in the serving bowl. “May I ask a very genuine question?” he kept looking at the great amount of food in the dish.

As Draco sat down, his gaze also went to it. “I remembered it was a ratio of four to one but I got it a bit mixed up. Apparently, it’s four cups of stock to one cup of polenta, not the other way around.” 

Silence.

“How much more--”

“Five more pots in the kitchen.”

Harry smiled down at his plate and Draco decided not to hold back his laugh. The way he looked at Draco in that moment made Draco clear his throat. It was a blindingly endearing smile and it was all for him.

“I’ve been trying to--”

Draco sighed deeply. “Potter, have I not made it clear that I don’t want your apologies? We both reacted and now I’ve made an extraordinarily mediocre dinner for us to make nice over. Please, try it. I’ll not be poisoned by my own cooking on my first try.”

Harry gave a great guffaw. “So I’m your guinea pig then?”

“Obviously,” Draco put on his haughty look-- which was the absolute best.

“Alright, fair enough,” Harry chuckled as he spooned a bit into his mouth.

Draco looked on, trying not to seem overeager and failing miserably. “Well?”

“It’s very flavorful, is--” Harry swallowed with a little difficulty, “is that a hint of vanilla under the garlic, I detect?”

“Well, yes. I wanted to give it depth of flavor.”

“It certainly has that.”

Draco began to speak and Harry caught his hand on the table, gently stopping him. “Draco, I’m sorry.”

Caught mid-flighty sentence, Draco looked Harry in the eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I misunderstood the situation.”

Harry blinked a few times and Draco glanced at their hands together on the table, then realization dawned on Harry. “How does she always know?”

“Hmm?” Draco was lost in the feeling of Harry’s hand again. “Hermione is very helpful with her timing, you know,” he half thought aloud, the whole thing being said very far from where he currently was.

“She can be,” Harry followed Draco’s eyes and, on a whim, decided to try something. Sliding his hand down a bit, he pushed his fingers under and then in between Draco’s long, slender ones lacing them together. Looking up, he caught Draco blushing a deep red.

“Please, Draco, accept my apology. You couldn’t have known, this wasn’t your fault.”

Draco dragged his eyes from their intertwined hands to Harry’s searching green gaze. And for the first time in his life, he found himself speechless; so he did the best he could with a barely discernible nod. Though Draco could have kicked himself, he knew it came off cold as soon as Harry smiled stiffly and pulled his hand back, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. Draco wouldn’t quite be able to quell his emotions until he could think straight again.

“Good, we have that settled then.” Harry instinctively picked up his spoon and went back to his plate. His face fell when he remembered what he was eating. 

Looking back to Draco sheepishly, Harry apologetically suggested, “Take out?”

~*~

As per usual, Draco woke up before the sun. They were supposed to do another lesson today, but Draco wanted to try something else. Harry had briefly attempted to get close yesterday; he’d more than done his part, and with Draco’s partial response there was room for misunderstanding. Draco didn’t want that anymore. He wanted his intention clear this time— even through the burned toast.

Working as quietly and as quickly as possible, Draco prepared breakfast using the stove for the first time in his life.

~*~

Harry woke to a barely audible knock on his door and a soft cursing beyond it. Groggily, he sat up and put his glasses on. “Draco?”

“Can I come in? This is heavy.”

“Hea—What?” Harry stood up and opened the door. His eyes went from Draco’s small, nervous smile, to the tray he was holding precariously, back to Draco’s eyes— which reminded him, he had forgotten to grab a shirt. He grinned.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday over some breakfast.”

Harry stood to the side and let Draco into the room. They both settled on his bed with the tray between them. Draco sat a little too straight. “I made breakfast for you, as a thank you for trying to teach me.”

Looking at the plate, Harry was honestly surprised. “It looks amazing!” Grabbing a fork he opted to try the mango, which had been cut into a slightly awkward shape but it looked juicy and per— “That’s… not a mango, is it?”

“What? of course not! That’s scrambled eggs!”

“Draco,” Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, locking him in place with a soft smile, his bottom lip being teased by his teeth. 

Draco was positively hypnotized. “Y-yes?”

“How are the eggs solid and runny at the same time?”

The spell was broken and Draco’s mouth opened. No sound came out, so he closed it and opted to glare instead.

“Ah, forget I asked. It doesn’t matter anyway. Thank you for the breakfast, Draco, it’s lovely.” Harry went for a slice of toast and jam.

“Well, it was honestly the least I could-- What’s wrong?”

Harry had stopped chewing and looked concerned. “Is there lemon pepper under the jam?” he slurred through his toast.

“Yes! Mother always used lemon in her blackberry pie so I thought it would be perfect!” Draco’s face was lit up with pure excitement.

Swallowing hard, Harry smiled, a little pained. “Good instincts. We’ll talk fiddly details later.” He winked and set the toast down. When Harry looked up, he noticed that Draco was no longer beaming with pride-- he was pink. The tops of his ears were bright red.

“Details, yes.” Draco raked his eyes over Harry’s broad, well-toned shoulders and his color deepened.

Harry-the-ever-observant thought he’d toe the line again. “It’s nice of you to come and sit with me while I eat. I don’t think you’ve ever sat on my bed.”

Draco pulled his eyes to Harry’s mischievously glittering gaze, and the look he saw triggered something in Draco. He straightened, arched a brow, turned to survey Harry’s room, then back to make a pointed look at Harry. “Perhaps that is because I’m not used to being surrounded by so many heaps of discarded refuse.”

Harry did a double take of his room; there was a pair of socks under his desk and a shirt hanging over the chair. He turned to Draco skeptically. “You’re joking?”

Shrugging, Draco hid a smirk by turning to stare at the socks behind him, “We should name them, if they’re going to be joining us for breakfast.”

The floor was cold and Harry grumbled a bit as he went around the bed to the desk to pick up the socks and throw them in the hamper. As soon as he’d finished, Harry whirled around and squatted so he was face to face with Draco. “Better, darling?”  
It was meant to sound sarcastic and a little snide, but the whole thing came out a bit too breathy to have any bite to it. Harry was looking deep into Draco’s clear, grey eyes and Merlin help him if he weren’t completely lost.

Draco wasn’t handling the situation any better, for his part, but to his credit he certainly was trying. “Of c-course, dear.”

Harry’s eyes dropped to Draco’s mouth as he spoke. He watched as Draco licked his lips and without either noticing, the gap between them lessened. 

“Again.” Harry wasn’t sure if he’d said it out loud until he saw the tip of Draco’s perfect, pink tongue slowly wet his bottom lip. 

“I think,” Harry started, “that I am going to kiss you now.”

Draco felt himself start. This was what he’d wanted, right? Damn it all, he couldn’t think straight with Harry so close, the smell of him intoxicatingly warm, the sight all but driving him to insanity. The only part of his brain that wasn’t absolutely zeroed in on everything about the man directly in front of him told him he had to win-- now that he knew there was no loss in putting his cards on the table, he had to be the one to play his hand first.

Their lips crashed together. Harry was put completely off balance and grabbed onto Draco who, somehow, went down to the floor with him gracefully. They were a heap of tangled limbs on the floor and neither seemed to mind overly much until Harry gathered his wits for a few moments and pulled away. 

When Draco felt the distance he only allowed the shock to register on his face for the barest of moments before he looked down as though he were owed something and sat up on top of Harry. “Can I help you?”

Harry, breathing deeply, went deadpan, “You can cut the Malfoy act.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “What are you even on about Potter?”

Reaching up, Harry threaded his hands through Draco’s feathery hair and lightly turned his head to face him, “My name is Harry and I don’t want to do anything that’s going to upset things. I think this may be something we’ve both been screwing up our courage for, but--”

“But you have the observation skills of a squash when it comes to your personal life?” Draco tried not to snort. Instead, he cautiously turned his face into Harry’s hand and put a soft kiss on the middle of his palm. Inhaling deeply and squeezing his eyes shut, he continued with all the nerve he possessed, which was surprisingly little considering he was literally on top of the man. “As long as this, whatever this is, isn’t a one-off, I think I would very much like it to keep going wherever it’s headed.” Draco peeked, “Harry.”

A slow grin slid across Harry’s face; that was all he’d needed to hear. He pushed his hand through Draco’s hair a bit farther back and pulled him closer, softly chuckling into his ear. “Even if I didn’t very probably love you I’ve been thinking about this so long that it couldn’t be a one off-- we’d need months to get through everything.”

Draco jolted back and stared at Harry, wide eyed and burning red.

Harry looked knowingly at Draco, and drawled a teasing, “Yes?”

Kicking off, Draco ran out of the bedroom at break-neck speed, “I FORGOT TO TAKE THE MUFFINS OUT OF THE OVEN AN HOUR AGO!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/154623.html).


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